


in this life and the next

by Barrhorn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, Fluff, basically a soulmates type of thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: Angela's power lets her see injuries and illnesses, but when she meets Fareeha she discovers a different side to it.
(more fluff, less plot)





	

When she first meets Fareeha, the first thing Angela notices is not her dark brown eyes or her broad shoulders or her muscles or the tattoo under her eye (though oh, how she notices them). It’s the golden web of light that only Angela can see, hovering just under her skin, the same gold that lives in Angela and marks them both, to her eyes, as not entirely human.

She doesn’t know what _other_ Fareeha is, but she quickly learns this: Fareeha is Lena’s new partner on the force, that she can’t entirely switch off her work (when Fareeha apologizes for the fifth time her eyes scan the crowd, Angela laughs and gestures to the pager she’s praying won’t go off), that Fareeha relaxes more when Angela gets her alone, that her eyes light up when Angela smiles through a groan at each new, always worse pun, that her hands are delightfully warm in the fall air.

They’re standing on the porch of Lena’s small house, stepping away from the noise and catching their breath. Despite the lights on behind them, the stars are still visible, scattered across the sky, and Angela sighs and tips her head up as she feels the stress leave her shoulders.

Then, suddenly, she smells the sea, feels water spray against her face as the wood underneath her feet rises and falls like the deck of a ship. She sways, and Fareeha’s arm wraps around her waist to catch her, her soft smile transformed into concern, and Angela is back on the porch with the party buzzing away inside.  
“I’m all right,” she tells Fareeha, though she’s not sure that’s true, wondering what the hell just happened. “Just a little light headed; I must be more tired than I thought.”  
Looking only slightly mollified, Fareeha still guides her to a chair, and Angela allows herself to be led, trying to determine why this feels so familiar.

—

Angela is gifted with sight, able to see things that others cannot. But her realm has always been the physical, things concerning the body: the bright red tangle of a burst appendix, the thick green strand of a flu, the white shimmer of exhaustion or stress. It gives her an extra edge in her work, elevates her from a brilliant surgeon to a world-class one, though she keeps her sight a careful secret. It’s helped her to save countless lives, and she cannot risk anyone taking that from her because of fear or superstition. As it is, she pushes herself to do as much as possible, to always help that one extra person, to bring as many of the seemingly impossible cases back from death as she can.

What she doesn’t have - what she’s never had - is an ability to see things past the physical. She cannot see a lie on someone or discern their intentions. She’s never been able to see through time or to another place, though she knows there are others out there with such abilities. She’s never experienced anything like what happened on the porch. She’s wondered if it has to do with whatever Fareeha is, but they’ve gone on a few dates without any other occurrences.

However, as busy as she is, Angela doesn’t have much time to contemplate the incident as much as she would like, and while she hasn’t forgotten it, it’s fallen to the back of her mind. Until the day she returns to her office, tired and sore after a long surgery. She’s been thinking of calling Fareeha, but right now she’s not sure she’d be very good company. It’s just that it’s so rare for their shifts to align and- she slumps into her chair, and when her shoulders hit the back she’s suddenly

_pressed against a wall, stone digging into her shoulders. Torchlight flickers through the stairwell, only dimly illuminating the thick dark hair that her fingers bury into, clutching too tight but drawing no complaint from the woman in front of her, who ducks her head to kiss her neck. Angela throws her head back as lips trace a line of fire across her skin. Her corset presses sharply into her ribs as she gasps for breath, pleading, eyes stinging with tears. ‘If just this once,’ she thinks. ‘If only ever this much-‘_

She comes back to herself with a gasp, shuddering in her chair and gripping the armrests with white knuckles as she reorients herself. Her office, with its familiar, well-worn furniture and the pictures and diplomas on the wall steadies her, until her hand pressed over her racing heart is the only evidence left of the rush of desperate need and desire. Except. _Except_. In the glimpse of her lover’s face she had seen Fareeha, and the absolute certainty of the recognition calls up something like longing in her. She hesitates briefly over her phone, but with the memory of such bitter grief on her tongue, she cannot bring herself to ignore it. She types quickly and hits send before she can second guess herself:

_Are you still free tonight?_

—

The visions keep coming, always featuring her and Fareeha. She’s seen them as children, running through the woods, hiding in thickets and giggling over glass treasures before wandering home with clasped hands and dirty knees. She’s seen them in wartime, tired and bruised and yet finding comfort in each other, slipping secretly into each other’s sleeping bags. They’ve been old together, surrounded by children, and they’ve been separated by chance and desperate for each other.

She hasn’t told Fareeha about these visions, even though Fareeha now knows about the other aspect of her sight. After one too many full moon nights when Fareeha conveniently has somewhere else to be leads Angela to guess that she’s a shifter, it seems a fair trade.

She hasn’t told Fareeha because she’s worried about what Fareeha would think. While she’s pretty sure Fareeha would believe her - a doubt always in her mind thanks to a childhood spent trying in vain to convince everyone else that what she saw was real - she isn’t sure what Fareeha would make of the subject matter. And Fareeha is strong and kind and generous. She’s patient beyond belief when Angela is called away by her job; she’s content when Angela comes over and is so exhausted that all she wants is to sleep in her arms; truthfully she’s allowed Angela to all but move in with her. Outside of the visions, Fareeha has become an integral part of her life, and Angela doesn’t want to scare her off by coming across too strong.

Besides, she doesn’t even fully understand what the visions are herself. Are they something that has happened? Something that will happen? Something that could’ve happened had they just been born in a different time and place? How should she explain something that she doesn’t know?

Still, there is one night when she’s tempted to try anyway, after she wakes with a sob caught painfully in her chest. She turns and presses her face into Fareeha’s shoulder, and the trembling of her body rouses Fareeha enough for her to wrap an arm around Angela’s shoulders.  
“Angela?” she murmurs, sleep slurring her speech. “You okay?”  
“Just a bad dream,” she whispers in return. “Go back to sleep.”  
“Want to talk?”

She almost does. She almost says: I had a sword through my chest and I was so cold. And you were lying on the floor bleeding out, and the last thing I saw was the pain and regret in your eyes, and my last thought was the impossible one that those emotions were for _me_. Even though you killed me. Even though I killed you.

“I don’t really remember it,” she says instead, and when Fareeha pulls her closer, she slips a hand between them, underneath Fareeha’s shirt, and lets the warmth of her skin and the steady heartbeat under her fingertips lull her into a thankfully visionless sleep.

—

She’s reading on their couch with Fareeha in wolf form stretched out next to her, resting her head across Angela’s lap. Her fingers are buried in the thick fur of Fareeha’s neck, lazily petting her as her eyes skim the medical journal. When she feels the now-familiar buzz of a coming vision, she closes her eyes and lets it in.

_Fareeha steps off the plane in her fatigues, dropping her pack with a laugh as Angela rushes forward and throws herself into her arms. “Missed me?” she teases, and Angela nods against her chest, unable to find her voice in the swell of joy in her throat._

Angela decides to chase that feeling, letting her journal close and trusting in Fareeha’s weight to anchor her. She searches for that buzz in the back of her mind and falls in:

_She’s standing on stage, the lights in her face obscuring the crowd. As she sings, she looks to her right, where Fareeha is stepping up to her microphone, hands never faltering over the guitar as she joins in on the chorus. Fareeha glances over and their eyes meet, and Angela’s smiling through the lyrics as they sing to each other, the crowd forgotten._

She breathes, her fingers ghosting through Fareeha’s fur.

_They’re in a clinic and Angela is wrapping a bandage around Fareeha’s bicep, blue and gold armor laid out on the table next to her. Fareeha takes her hand as soon as the bandage is secured, her brown eyes gleaming up at her. “I remember the first time I saw you, right in here,” she says. “Once I met you, there could be no one else.”_

She can feel Fareeha’s head lift, hear a little questioning rumble from her, but she’s not quite ready to let go.

_The door opens and their daughter bounds inside with a wide grin, her face smudged with dirt, and Angela pauses in setting the table to watch Fareeha catch her in her arms, lifting her up into a hug. Their daughter is talking excitedly, showing Fareeha something as her mothers share a knowing smile, and Angela shoos them both upstairs to clean up before dinner._

She relaxes back into herself, into the couch, just as Fareeha presses her nose against her cheek, and Angela laughs and gently pushes her head away. “I’m just daydreaming, don’t mind me,” she says.

Fareeha resettles herself with a sigh, and Angela devotes both hands to her now, running over her ears and head and neck. If this particular moment is new, she’s experienced something like it a hundred times before, and the contentment in her bones is centuries old.


End file.
